


I Didn't Know I Was a Vampire

by Neaislove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, supernatural is known, vampire!Stiles - Freeform, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neaislove/pseuds/Neaislove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was just tired. And hungry. And didn't feel like being the third wheel on a beautiful summer date. Nothing new here. No siree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Didn't Know I Was a Vampire

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt which can be found [here](http://neaislove.tumblr.com/post/120214463582/adriofthedead-zzdigital-what-if-someone-got)
> 
> There is also a very brief mention of how being turned against your will is like being raped. Just so you're warned.

"No...fuck...no. Nope." Stiles grunts and slams his door shut. He didn't really feel like going out anyways. He rubs his face, trying to chase away the rush of warmth and the tingling itch that followed. Scott invited him out to lunch. At a bistro. Who even goes to a bistro? Uppity people, that's who. Not people like Stiles who were perfectly happy to sit in the air conditioning and plow through a week old pizza.

Stiles tosses himself back onto his couch and starts toeing off his sneakers. Then he's leaning back and pulling his phone out of his front pocket. He hasn't really been out in a while. Just the ocassional midnight run for junk food. He appreciates that Scott's trying to get him out in the sun but come on. Who wants to be the third wheel at a cutesy bistro lunch?

"Stiles, hey man, so I think they have--"

He puffs out his cheeks and blows into the receiver. "Yeah...", Stiles scratches the back of his head, "So I don't know if you've noticed but it's pretty bright outside."

"Bright?" Over the phone Scott sounds confused. "It's like noon?"

"Yeah Scotty. Noon. High noon. A very bright time in Cali." Stiles can almost hear Scott coming to a full stop. He slumps a little more into the couch and prepares himself.

"Okay?" There's a shuffling noise and a chair scraping against concrete. "We got here a little early but we'll wait for you."

"About that Scott...I'm not coming."

"Did something happen?"

"Well last week I got a pretty bad sunburn. Or it felt bad anyways. Agony Scott. For like a whole day I felt like I was melting."

"Is that when I wanted to go--"

"Yeah. Anyways, I'm just not feeling an outside lunch today." Stiles wiggles his toes into the carpet and starts fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I'm sun shy. Still traumatized by my past."

"Stiles." Scott's tone could not be any more exasperated. Seriously, Stiles can picture the exact look on his face and it's sickening. To be honest Stiles does want to hang out with Scott. Since they moved into separate apartments they haven't seen much of each other. They were grown up. At least half grown up anyways. They had other priorities. Stiles had his Guild in WOW and a bustling career as an overnight stocker at a grocery store. Scott had his veterinary internship and a pretty girlfriend slash roommate.

"I know. I know okay. But...I'm just tired. And it's bright outside. I know I'm going to get a migraine if I go out there. I feel it in my bones Scotty."

"Dude, you can't keep canceling."

Stiles slides to the side on the couch, thumping his head on the seat cushion. "Let's do dinner. Kira can come. We'll eat before my shift. No way I can bail because I'll already be dressed and awake." Scott grumbles and Stiles listens while he shares a not so quiet conversation with Kira. Scott never quite figured out how far away to hold a phone.

"Okay. Dinner. You can pick the place but if you bail on this I'll...pee on your stuff."

"Pee on my stuff?"

Scott laughs. The line goes a little staticy, like he's shifting around. "I'll have Biscuit pee on your stuff."

"Don't you bring Biscuit into this. He's a good puppy!"

"He's seven." There's more static. "Sorry man, our waitress is here. Talk to you later."

"See ya." Stiles let's his hand drop limply to the couch next to his face. Maybe he should get a dog. He really doesn't feel like going out at all. He's been so tired lately. It's not his sleep schedule. He's been rocking little to no sleep since he started his ADHD medication. He sleeps a solid eight hours minimum during the day. He's not working any more than usual. Maybe he's not eating the best. When he first started living on his own, with Scott really, he made a lot of soups and casseroles. Things he could make a lot of and freeze or box up for later.

Lately he couldn't find anything he wanted to eat. Like, he wanted french bread pizza. He dug the french bread pizza out of his freezer. He pre-heated his oven for that pizza. He waited patiently for that pizza to cool. Then he took a bite and it was just 'meh'.

Sometimes he felt the urge to just go out and wander for food. But late night adventures weren't that fun alone. And Scott had obligations now. Hell, if Stiles had a half decent body to go to bed with every night he wouldn't answer calls either. So Stiles ignores the little voice telling him to search for new and exciting late night cuisine and heats up more frozen food that he doesn't want.

If it were a work day he'd be asleep right now. Maybe that's what he'll do. Just wait out the rest of this bleh day in bed. Stiles rolls off of his couch and crawls to the hallway. Then he uses the wall for support and slowly drags himself to his bedroom. His sheets are a rumpled mess from last nights Netflix binge. He's been meaning to watch Marco Polo but he just can't bring himself to start it. Not when there's six movies waiting in his queue. And once those are finished he needs to finish the new season of Orange is the New Black. He watched the first two seasons religiously but then he switched to overnight and everything went down the drain.

Stiles unbuttoned his pants and shimmied out of them, then slid into bed. For a second he just snuggled into his bed, tucking his nose into his pillow. He just felt so damn tired. "I canceled. I need to do something productive." Stiles takes a deep breath in and flips open the lid of his laptop. It whirs for a minute before bringing up his abandoned Netflix page. He backs away from the 'timed out' message and starts looking through his watch later list. Babadook looks amazing but he's not sure he can dedicate himself to something that requires attention to small detail. "Tales From the Darkside then."

His attention drifts in and out on the movie. One minute there's a mummy, the next there's a cat crawling into someone's mouth. It's weird but cool enough that he'll have to watch it again when he's not as tired.

He falls asleep. When he wakes up he's in a puddle of his own drool and his laptop is dead. He flips up the bottom of his shirt to wipe off his face. "Ugh, since when does this happen." Stiles clears his throat and closes his computer. For a second he sits on the edge of his bed and tries to wake up fully. He's hungry again. Like super hungry. He sleep through lunch. "Pizza rolls? No I ate all those." Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose and heads to the kitchen.

He opens up his freezer and leans his face inside to take a look. It's almost empty. After work tomorrow he'll need to pick up some groceries. And it's looking like he'll need to pick up actual food. Not just frozen stuff. Maybe that's what's wrong with him. His stomach is on revolt. No more zap 'em snack 'ems. "Ugh, you all look disgusting." Stiles pulls out a package of Hot Pockets and nukes them both. He eats them on the couch, still in his underwear, and tries to ignore how they taste like cardboard.

* * * 

Work sucks. He had a degree. He could teach. Legally teach, and instead he's making sure his local super center never runs low on soup and beans. A bright future of nurturing young minds down the drain so he can wear khaki's and direct stoners to chips at one in the morning. "Go to college. Get a degree. Collect a massive debt to chain yourself to the man." Stiles straightens another can of off brand chicken noodle soup and sighs. He rocks to the side, his knee pads creaking on the tile, and stands. The half empty box of soup is tucked under his arm.

"Excuse me."

"GAH!" Stiles staggers back and drops the box of soup. The box busts and a few stray cans roll away. He flails for a minute, then grabs the hair on the back of his head. There's a customer in front of him. A surly looking guy in a leather jacket holding a bag of beans. "Sorry, sorry. Uh, how can I help you?"

Leather guy looks entirely unimpressed. His eyes slowly travel up and down Stiles, taking in his hole riddled sneakers, his knee pads, his ridiculous smock thing. "Are you out of cumin?" The guy gestures to the left. The next aisle over is spices. Kevin is suppose to be on that aisle but he's a merperson and he's constantly running to get drinks because he can't remember to bring a water bottle to work. Which means Stiles usually covers his area.

"I can take a look for you. Just a second." He moves to pass the customer but he raises his hand.

"I can't smell any. Do you have some in the back?"

Smell? Stiles takes another good look at Mr. Leather. Werewolf maybe. "Right, okay well I can't leave this mess to check so just give me a second." Stiles bends down and starts gathering up his wayward cans while the customer stands their awkwardly. Pulling stuff from the back room is a pain in the ass. Customers don't realize everything is logged in a computer system. Stiles isn't one of the lucky few who have a telxon to zap out items. So he's stuck trying to get a back room worker to help him. But it's all for the customer.

Box in hand Stiles nods to the customer and heads to the back. He dumps the cans the first chance he gets and wanders to the spice section. "Hey Janey! Can you pull this cumin for me? Customer." He waits patiently while she comes over and pulls it out. Before Stiles can protest she's handing him three more spice boxes that Kevin left behind. He almost expects Possible Werewolf Mr. Leather to be gone by the time he gets back. But nope. He's still standing in the middle of the aisle holding a bag of dried beans.

Stiles tosses the extra boxes onto Kevin's cart and comes over with the cumin. "Here ya' go man. A dollar forty two, is that okay?"

"That's fine, thank you."

Stiles curls his lips and nods his head like a chicken. He has other stuff to stock. But this guy is just hanging around. He kind of prefers the customers who are so busy they just fly off as soon as they've been helped. Way less awkward. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Is this place fair?"

"Um?"

The guy rolls his hand, giving a so-so gesture. "To all species?"

Stiles squints and drops open his mouth. "Oh...uh, well, I mean affirmative action right? There's a good mix working here. The company is okay with it but there's this manager on day shift who really hates Wendingo's. Which, okay it's not okay to generalize, but they're notorious for poor self control."

"You've never had any problems?"

Stiles scrunches up his face. "Uh...no? I mean why would I?" Stiles shrugs his shoulders. "If you want to apply you can do it at home online or at one of the kiosks in the photo center. We're looking for more people overnight. Cashiers too I think. But those are all shifts."

Leather guy is staring at him now. Like really staring. It's starting to make him uncomfortable. When Stiles had switched to nights it was primarily for the extra day and dollar he'd get added to his schedule and check. Scott had gone on and on about how it wasn't as safe because the crazies came out. But Stiles wasn't swayed. Soccer mom's shopped during the day. Every 'I demand a manager' customer shopped during the day. Stiles thought he was playing it safe.

"Um, sir?" Stiles takes a step back. The customer follows and tips his head to the side like he's studying him.

"Do you not know?" The customer points at him.

"Know what?" Stiles takes another step back and puts his hands in front of him. "Sir, I was happy to help but seriously-" Stiles edges back again and steps on his shoelace. His arms windmil for a second, then he's falling back on his ass with a yelp.

"You okay Stiles?" That's Kevin. He still sounds like he's a few aisles away but he's getting closer. Possible Werewolf takes a step back and has the decency to look a little ashamed.

"Sorry." Then he turns tail and practically runs down the center aisle. By the time Kevin makes it back Stiles is dusting himself off and is so so ready for a break. He kicks the box of cumin closer to Kevin and stalks back towards his own aisle.

* * * * 

Scott finally decided to be reasonable. No more did he demand bro time at the buttcrack of dawn. He'd finally conceeded to Stiles' need for twilight meetups. Not that Stiles was feeling particularly up for this meetup. He was still tired. Still hungry. He couldn't even muster up the energy to barge into Scott's place like he owned it. That was something he'd mastered at the tender age of twelve.

Stiles leans against the doorframe, smushing his cheek against it, and knocks. He can hear Scott moving around inside. There's a thunk and swear. Because he always stubs his toe on the table in the entry way. When the door gets yanked open Stiles doesn't budge. He's still supporting himself on the doorframe. Hasn't even opened his eyes.

"Dude."

"Un."

"Uh?" Scott stands to the side and gestures to his apartment. Stiles doesn't budge. He doesn't feel like moving. Couldn't if he wanted to. He should be in bed right now. "Come in man. You're letting out the cold air."

"And the transformation is complete." Stiles rolls off the doorframe and staggers inside. "Tell me, what does it feel like to be a mother?"

Scott scoffs at him and shuts the door. "Ass." He herds Stiles towards the couch and shoves him onto it. Since they moved away from each other Scott took on a mothering roll. He's not even going to fuss. He smells nachos. "When was the last time you ate?" Scott yanks off his shoe and tosses it in the corner.

"When I woke up. Had some cereal."

"Sugary?"

Stiles yanks his foot away. "No Dr. McCall, it was a very respectable bowl of shredded mini-wheats."

Scott rocks back on his haunches and shrugs. "You just look starved dude. You've got to start cooking again."

"I know." Stiles throws his arms over the back of the couch and slumps down, making hismself comfortable. He tips his head back and takes a deep sniff. Scott definitely made nachos. With the good cheese, and jalapenos. "Can I have some nachos?"

"Sure man." Scott stands and smacks Stiles on the leg. "Sour cream?"

"You know it." Stiles closes his eyes and let's himself drift while Scott makes their plates. He jerks awake when Scott holds the plate under his nose. He almost knocks it over. Scott just barely manages to pull it away in time. Stiles yawns and makes grabby hands. "Thanks man. Gimmie, gimmie."

Scott snorts and drops down onto the couch next to him. He hands off his plate and settles in to watch a movie. They've learned that nacho cheese and controllers don't mix. "Twilight Zone is on. HBO is free this weekend too."

"'Kay, whichever." Stiles slides a chip through the thickest vein of cheese and salsa. It looked absolutely delectable. He hovered the chip over his face, opened wide, and shoved the whole chip in his mouth. For a second there was the sharp tang of salsa and spicy cheese. Then it was gone. Stiles barely had the time to enjoy it before the taste faded to a bland nothing. Like eating chunky porridge. Stiles huffs and aggressively chews his chip.

Beside him Scott is absorbed in Twilight Zone. His nachos don't seem tainted if the way he's chowing down is any indication. It sucks. Something is officially wrong with him. If he can't enjoy Scott's nachos all hope is lost. He doesn't want to worry Scott though. So he dutifully shovels down the nachos and ignores the way his throat practically closes to keep them out. They only make it through one episode before the food is cleared away and they're ready to play.

It's easy enough for Stiles to push off his worries while he plays. He and Scott quickly devolve from pursuing the actual missions to mindlessly dicking around and seeing how creatively they can kill their characters. By the time Kira calls to say she's coming home they're leaning against each other, sides aching with laughter. "Oh Scotty, I think I've got to call it."

"You workin' tonight?"

"Yeah. I'm not off until Saturday so..."

"Don't be a stranger okay. I feel like I never see you anymore." The two of them stand in front of the couch, facing each other. Scott's got his hands in his pockets but Stiles knows he's itching for a hug. Stiles flings his arms out and tips his chin up in welcome. He and Scott never bothered with the standard bro hug. What's the point of a hug if there's arms in the way. Hugs demand full upper body contact. They hold each other tight and rock from side to side.

They really haven't seen much of each other lately. Not since Stiles went out with his bonus money and blew it all on a party night. He started out with Scott at a bar and ended in a bathtub, half naked, nearly ten miles from where he first started. Maybe he partied himself out. Sewed the last of his wild oats. Or, on the darker side, he might have an STD or something. Stiles pulled out of the hug and gave a last parting ruffle to Scott's hair. "I promise I'll come by more okay."

He pulls his shoes back on, let's Scott push him around while he heads to the door. He's already in his khaki's. There's a crumpled polo in the back of his jeep somewhere. When he turns on his jeep he promises himself he'll call a doctor when he gets off. He can make an apointment for Saturday. "I am an adult. I have a job. I pay bills. I can call a doctor by myself." Stiles thunks his head on his steering wheel and tries to psych himself up. He's fine. He's just being a baby. All he needs is a good home cooked meal. And a trip to the doctor. Because he's an adult who can understand the importance of preventative measures.

Work sucks like always. Tonight the stockers are chipping in together to order a couple of pizzas. Usually Stiles would be all for it but he just can't be bothered. What's the point if it's just going to taste like paste? So while all his coworkers are crowded around a couple of boxes Stiles stalks over to the frozen section and stares at the tv dinners. He's seriously considering a lean cuisine. Why not go healthy while he can't taste?

"Excuse me."

Stiles grunts. He's not on the clock. He's thinking he might go with the pumpkin ravioli. That's good for you right? Has to be.

"Sir?"

"There's a manager in five that can help you. I'm on lunch."

"That's not...look, I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, well I--", Stiles turns, ready to tell off this jerk when he sees who it is. Possible Werewolf. He's still wearing leather, a different jacket but still leather. "You."

Possible Werewolf looks a little afronted. His brows furrow and his lips purse just so. Stiles sees this face on his manager at least once a week. "Yes, me. I wanted to talk to you."

"I'm on lunch okay. Bother me while I'm getting paid." Stiles angrily snatches his frozen dinner and tries to storm around the customer.

"Please, I think you're in trouble." Possible Werewolf reaches out and grabs Stiles by his bicep. "My name is Derek. I'm a werewolf."

"Hi, I'm Stiles." He yanks his badge out of his pocket and dangles it in front of Derek's face. "And I'm a human."

"But you're not!" Derek let's himself be shaken off of Stiles and stares at him. He ducks in close and tries to stare him down. Stiles is completely taken aback. "You're not. Not anymore. When I asked you about working here I asked because I wanted your personal opinion."

"My opinion?" Stiles feels a little dazed. He's not sure if this guy is just trying to fuck with him or if he's being genuine. "I don't--"

"I'm an EMT. I see a lot of freshly turned. More than you'd think."

"I'm not a werewolf."

"I didn't say you were." Derek holds his hands up in front of himself in a placating gesture. Stiles doesn't like it. Doesn't like how this guy is treating him like a cagey animal. "I know what you are. I can smell it."

"Smell?" Stiles feels faint. Is that what's wrong with him? Did someone bite him when he went partying?

"Stiles. I need you to be calm okay. It's going to be alright. You probably haven't noticed a massive change because it's not. You'll need to make a few adjustments but you're still you."

He's furious. This guy, this asshole werewolf can't just come to his job and harass him like this. "Of course I'm still me because I am me! Nothing has changed. Nothing!"  
Derek cocks an eyebrow and gestures to the frozen dinner in his hand. "So that's not going to taste like cardboard? You're not dead on your feet right now? You're not constantly hungry for a craving you can't figure out?"

Stiles drops the dinner. His badge too. That's exactly what he's been feeling. So either this guy is stalking him, or he's got a serious problem on his hands. A wave of heat crashes over him. He can't breathe. He can't. Stiles drops to his knees and covers the back of his head. Breathe Stiles. Breathe. He's trying to tell himself to stop. To pull through. You're at work, you can't do this here. But his lungs won't open and he's so hot. So nauseous. Why can't he breathe?

Then there's something cool on the back of his neck and fingernails are scratching across his scalp. "Shhh. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay." Stiles is panting, still desperately trying to draw in breath. He can hear other people talking. Not just Derek. Must be a manager. Managers have to be notified if people have breakdowns. Oh God, he doesn't want to be that guy.

* * * * 

Waking up is hard. He's so tired. His stupid phone. It always defaults to the standard alarm. Beep, beep, beep. Stiles groans and throws out his arm to find his phone. He smacks a railing instead. Wakefulness seems to slam into him. The panic attack at work. The leather guy telling him he wasn't human. "Where--" Stiles scrambles to sit up in his hospital bed.

"No, no, calm down. It's okay." Derek is there, sitting in the corner. At the moment he's sitting on the edge of his seat, palms out. His jacket is gone, instead Stiles sees a tight navy polo with the hospital's logo stitched on the chest. "You passed out at work. You're half starved Stiles."

"I eat." Stiles rubs the heel of his palm into his forehead. "I eat."

"But you're not drinking." Derek says it softly. You'd have to be brain damaged to not put it together. Stiles distantly wonders how many people Derek has had this conversation with. He said he'd seen a lot of freshly turned.

"I'm not. I'm can't be."

There's a sigh from the corner of the room. "You are. You were bit no more than a month ago. Whoever turned you did it illegally. You can press charges."

Stiles grits his teeth and clenches his hands in his hair. It dislodges the heart monitor on his finger. The machine starts going crazy. "That won't change me back!" Nurses come running into his room. One of them is brandishing a capped needle full of something dark. Sedative for a vampire. Stiles doesn't want to be sedated. He wants to think, wants to process and plan. He jerks away, trying to cram himself back on the bed and make himself small.

Derek surges up, putting himself between the bed and the nurse. "He'll be okay. His clip fell off. He's fine." Stiles keeps his forehead pressed to his knees while Derek and the nurse talk. She finally leaves with a heft warning that Derek 'have a talk' with him. With her gone Derek crosses the room and switches off the monitor. "I'm sorry I bothered you at work. I didn't know how else to find you. And I was worried."

"I'm flattered." Stiles steadfastly refused to look at this guy.

"Mr. Stilinski I've seen fresh turns. And I've seen fledglings that have gone crazy with hunger." Derek stops close to the edge of the bed, just to Stiles' right, and crosses his arms over his chest. "About a year ago dispatch gave me an address. They didn't have a lot of information, just that the caller asked for help. That she sounded panicked. My partner and I made the drive. We couldn't have taken more than seven minutes."

Despite himself Stiles is intrigued. His voice is somber. Stiles' dad tells stories like this. Domestic disputes gone wrong, dead kids and crushed tricycles. Stiles has learned to listen to this tone of voice.

"We see that the front door is unlocked. The house is small but well kept. There were three cars in the drive. I could smell blood the second I got out of the ambulance. We rush inside, hoping we can save at least one of them. Inside there's two bodies. The girls were torn apart. The third girl, the one who made the call, she's a fledgling. She didn't know what she was. She felt hungry and tired. Then she got more and more irritated. And hungrier. So one that night when her roommates were eating dinner she snapped and mauled them to death."

"Without a Sire to teach her how to feed she just kept biting. There were over seventy distinguishable bites between them. And five massive gashes where she ripped out chunks of flesh. She didn't call us because she came to. She called because she was still hungry. She was ordering take out. If I wasn't a werewolf she would have ripped out my partner's jugular. We had to sedate her. She was charged, processed, and sent to a corrections facility. She has to live with the fact that she murdered and ate her friends for the rest of her life. All because some asshole turned her without her consent and didn't stick around to show her how to feed."

Story over Derek lets the room fall silent. He doesn't come farther into Stiles' personal space, doesn't move to call a nurse. He just lets Stiles decompress. Stiles doesn't have a lot of experience with vampires. He's met a few. Who hasn't? On tv they're stereotyped as either over indulgent club goers or gothic masochists. A few come into the store at night. Usually to buy black clothes or plastic sports cups. Which is a little depressing. Is this going to be his life now? Is he going to start dressing in all black and appreciating Poe? Will he never enjoy fast food again? Is he never going to be able to get away from the night shift at a ridiculous super store?

"Mr. Stilinski."

"Stop. Just..." Stiles waves his arm out to keep Derek from getting any closer. "Just let me wallow okay." Derek stops just short of grabbing his shoulder. Stiles normally wouldn't turn down hot werewolf cuddles. He's a tactile guy. Werewolves are tactile creatures. But he just found out his entire DNA has been rewritten and he's not feeling up to flirting with this guy.

For a while Stiles just thinks about his life. His teaching degree is useless now. He's qualified to teach grade schoolers. There's not a wealth of night school elementaries out there. He'll have to tell his father about the change. And he'll have to decide wether or not he wants to press charges. He has rights but it's been a month. He doesn't remembr who he partied with. If they do catch the guy it'll be like a rape case. He was drunk. He probably flirted and flashed his neck. Sure there was no consent but did he come off worse for wear? He could already see how the trial would play out. If it even made it to court.

He's going to have to make arrangements for meals. Which means researching because he doesn't even know where to start. Can he live off of animal blood? Does he have to open an account at Red Cross?

"I don't mean to interrupt your existential crisis."

Stiles snaps his head to the side and sneers at Derek. He looks amused by his feeble attempt.

"You need to feed. The doctor gave you a shot to take the edge off, iron supplements mostly. But now you need to actually eat."

"And I suppose you've called a professional to help me?"

Derek smirks and pops the top button on his polo. "I was thinking something a little more personal."

For a second Stiles gapes at him. His face flushes and lets his eyes roam over Derek from hip to face. "Really? I--"

Derek stares him down, cocky smirk in place, and dips down to bring his face close to Stiles'. "I'm a fully certified medical professional." The smirk leaves and Derek looks completely deadpan. "Feeding for a fledgling can be difficult because the urge to bite overtakes rational thought." Derek lowers the railing on the bed and sits on the edge. Stiles squawks and tries to shove him away. He doesn't budge an inch. "You shouldn't bite around the neck. Or any major artery. This includes areas in the groin and upper arm area closest to the armpit. Until you learn better control you should stick to broader areas such as the abdomen, hips, or shoulders."

Stiles curls his lip and tries to bend away from Derek. As appealing as any of those areas on Derek would be, the clinical tone is taking away some of the magic. All of it really. "And I'm suppose to just bite you?"

"If you'd like. I'm a registered doner. I heal quickly. I can give you paperwork to prove you're clean if you'd like."

"No, no that's fine. I don't...", Stiles gestures to Derek, the confusion showing on his face, "really? Really you're just going to let me bite you?"

In response Derek pulls his polo over his head and tosses it onto the chair. There's chest hair. So much glorious chest hair. "The truth is, I wanted to talk to you for a while. Before I asked for the cumin."

"Wha--"

"I use to see you. When you were on day shift. I could never smell you. Too many people. When you switched to nights I thought you'd quit." Derek is looking down on his lap. There's a faint blush high on his cheeks. Stiles can't deny it's attractive.

"We don't know each other. I mean, I appreciate this. But we don't know anything about each other."

Derek nods, still looking at his lap. "I know. But I'm genuinely offering to donate blood to you. I can teach you to feed. We'll get to know each other." He looks up and offers Stiles a smile. It shows off a ridiculous set of bunny teeth. "Maybe we can just keep our options open?"

Stiles clears his throat and licks his lips. He's starving. He's still tired. His life is potentially in the tubes. He's going to be an adult about this. "I'd like that. So mentor for now. Possible romantic partner later. Like way later. Once I'm back on my feet and I'm a strong independent vampire."

"I think we can manage that." Derek pulls himself farther onto the bed and taps on his shoulder. "We'll start you off here. Less intimate than the stomach. Plenty of meat for you to sink your fangs into. Just bite down. Break the skin but don't pull. Just suck on the blood that comes to the surface. As long as your teeth are in my skin it won't close."

Stiles brings his hand up to his mouth and runs a finger across his teeth. "Do I have fangs now?"

"They'll descend when you get close. That's instinct. You'll start producing more saliva too. It's to numb your donors."

Stiles cracks his knuckles. "Alright, I've got this. Eating, how hard can it be?" Derek snorts while Stiles moves in. A breath away from the warm skin of his shoulder Stiles feels the fangs drop. It's a warm tugging sensation on his gums. He's just about to bite when he pulls back. "Did you actually want a job or are you just not smooth at all?"

Derek's mouth drops open in irritation and he throws his head back. "Just bite me Stiles. We can talk later."

"So you're saying you're bad at flirting." Stiles gestures to him. "You? Smokin' hot werewolf such as yourself can't land a date with lowly grocers?" Stiles grins. He leans in close and tries to catch his eye. Derek flings an arm over his eyes and groans.

"Nevermind. Bite my jugular and put me out of my misery."

Stiles feels like laughing for the first time in days.


End file.
